OF VICTORY SPIKES
I've fallen off the fitness wagon. I haven't been to the gym in two weeks. I was sniffly-headed and grumpy for a week of that time which is my excuse there and the rest of the time I just got out of the habit. This morning I managed to pry myself out of bed. I drank a glass of orange juice and drove to the MAX station. I could barely keeps my eyes open or my head up. I didn't think I would do more than a short cardio exercise but I managed to lift weights as well as do the cardio. I'm not, however, patting myself on the back.
The reason I forced myself to go in is because I was getting that fuzzy brain feeling that comes from being sedentary. Well, that and subsisting on coffee. The less I exercise the more caffeine I drink and the fuzzier I feel. It's a vicious circle.
Of course, if I get back into the habit of exercising in the morning then I need to start going to bed earlier which seems to be really difficult lately. Frankly, I'm just not happy with my daily schedule. I spend way too much time commuting to work. An hour for both directions just plainly sucks. Add to that an hour for getting ready in the morning, an hour to decompress in the evening and an hour at the gym that's five hours of nothing time. Throw the work-day in there and that's 13 hours completely wasted, lost forever. Heh. *ahem*
On the MAX yesterday, two guys sat in front of me with mohawked victory spikes. They both wore variations of cammo tops and pants, ripped and shredded for maximum effect. There was much chains and clanking and chrome and gleaming. Liberal spikiness. An actual safety pin in an actual ear. I thought all that went out in 1991. It's a little early for Halloween. They were very quiet, which was nice. Nothing worse then freaks yelling at people to stop staring at them even though they're dressed like freaks and carrying on like loud freaks.
Waiting for the MAX, I saw a cute freak couple. He with vibrant green hair; She with purple. A frumpy, housewifey-looking lady walked by with her oh-so-precocious little girl who screamed out, "Dat girl got boo haiiir." To which the mother off-handedly said back, "That's purple, sweetie." Not to be put off, the little girl screeched, "Dat boy got greeeeen haiiiir!" To which the mother murmured with a smile on her face, "Isn't that something?" I suspect that mother has some colored hair in her past.
Oz has been driving me insane. He stomps around the house, yowling at the top of his lungs. His food dish is full, he doesn't want hugs and he only kind of wants to play with his toys. If he doesn't think he's getting enough attention from the yowling then he'll start pawing at my legs. Then he sits very still. As soon as we notice that he's no longer yowling, he barfs.
I bought a bag of Science Diet cat food for him which he seems to like quite a bit. The last kind of food he didn't like very much but he didn't barf either. The food before that he liked and barfed. So, I guess the key may be that he eats too much or too fast. Binge and purge. Why did we get the bulimic cat? I've had a couple cats growing up and none of them barfed as much as this cat. I feel like a failure as a cat parent.
On top of all this, he seems very lonely and bored. I won't get another cat, though. I just can't. Not in this apartment. It's too small.
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